


The Assignment

by BlairZ



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Edging, F/M, First Time, Humiliation, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Humiliation, Wedding Night, arousal sniffing, not necessarily cannon compliant but a girl can dream, public humiliation in a good way, sansan, sexy task, wedding prep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairZ/pseuds/BlairZ
Summary: It's the day of Sansa and Sandor's Wedding and he has an assignment for her.





	1. Setting a Task

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of this universe. George RR Martin is the creator and I'm just using his characters to fuel my own fantasies.  
> Speaking of which, this story sprung from an actual fantasy I had about Sandor.  
> He's one sexy beast!!!

CHAPTER 1: SETTING A TASK

It was finally here.  
After all the wars, the separation, the manipulative bastards (literally and figuratively, thank *you* Petyr Baelish!) their wedding day was here. Sansa would finally have the happy ending with The Hound she always dreamt of...well, not always, but stupid youthful sillyness was just that. Stupid. Sandor had found her at the tourney in the Vale dressed as a Brown Brother and stole her like a Wildling. She was literally swept away by the ghost of her dreams.

But today was the day. The day all her lust would be sated. Sandor had been riling her up, denying her completion when they were intimate. He said he wanted her to be “foaming at the mouth” to have him inside her on their wedding night. 

He always has to go back to the dog references even though he hasn’t been “The Hound” since before Winter! Silly man! 

Sansa woke up in Winterfell as all Winter Princesses do. The birds were singing, she stretched coming out of her furs and turned and smiled. There he was. In a chair. By her bed. He was staring, sitting so still, eyes blacked out with desire. She squirmed a bit at his attention wondering how long he’d been watching her sleep.

“I have an assignment for you, my love”

“You do?” she asked.

“Yes. After your bath, I want you to touch yourself. I know you find it embarrassing, but I won’t have a chance to do it myself until after the ceremony.”

She blushed straight to her toes.

He still hadn’t moved an inch.

Clearing her throat, Sansa asked “Do you want me to touch to completion?”

“Sweetest Little Bird...No. That’s for me to do. For our first night and husband and wife I want to give you such pleasure. Allow an old dog to have pleasure by giving pleasure to you, hmmmm? One more thing about your assignment….”

“Yes?”

“Do not wash your hands after you’ve brought yourself close to the edge.”

“Why?”

“Consider it a wedding gift to me?”

Smirking, she replied “Of course, Ser. Anything for you, this is your special day too”

Smirking back he said “Thank you, my love. And still not a Ser.”

With that he got up and left the room holding the door for Sansa’s maids to enter and begin her preparations.

As the maids were bustling about her, Sansa was confused. Why not wash my hands? Who knows what men think? It could be anything...best not overthink and just do as he requests, he asks for so little.

In her private bath, she excused the maids then proceeded to soap herself up and thought of the day before her. Going to the Heart Tree in the Godswood. Declaring their love in front of family, friends, and dignitaries. The Feast to follow. Then the Bedchamber. Oh the bed chamber...She felt herself getting warmer and warmer by the minute. Bringing her soap cake to her breasts she lathered. Letting the soap fall back into the water, Sansa caressed her chest circling the soft skin surrounding her nipples. Then, she took her nails and scraped them across the nipples as if filing her nails. She hissed. She kept doing it and her thighs squeezed together. Frustrated at how slippery her legs were from the soap, she couldn’t gain any satisfying purchase and pinched her nipples. Pinched them hard. Then twisted, but still the soap made her fingers slip. But, they did end up a most delightful pink she knew Sandor would appreciate. Ugh! She was ready to rinse off and get to her beloved’s assignment.

Once out of the bath, Sansa was surrounded by people again. Dried off and dressed in just her shift her thoughts were her own as hair was dried, brushed, and set in simple braids around her simple bridal headpiece. Simple was best. Sandor liked her hair and would just get frustrated later when they were alone and he wanted her hair loose. She thought of seeing him naked. His chest bare and strong. Arms bigger than anything flexing as he held himself above her. Squirming again, she heard a knock at the door.

Arya came in holding her dress. A simple thing again as it would be easy to take off later (she didn’t want him ruining yet another set of laces with his knife...or teeth. That was a good night! Sigh…) and set the dress on the bed. 

“Thank you, Arya. I’m so happy you are here. We are finally able to celebrate something that has nothing to do with the past, this is a day for the future!”

“Sentimental as always, Sansa… Are you sure you’re ready to be the Mother of Hounds? I hear they need parchment for training.”

“Oh, You! I know you’ve become friends. Now tell me, who all is out there waiting?”

Arya looked bored as usual, but she dutifully gave her report.  
“Gendry, Jon and Dany, Brienne and The Kingslayer, Bronn and Tyrion, Bran, Meera, Tormund, Beric, and Sam and Gilly. Those are the ones meeting us by the Heart Tree. Those are the only ones I worth my notice. The Great Hall is stuffed with stuffed Lords and their Ladies, but who cares about them? I’m just happy the food tastes as good as it looks.”

Sansa nodded and grinned without even admonishing Arya for sampling the food before time. They’d come so very far! 

With her report given and the dress delivered, Arya got bored. The preparations for Sansa were excruciating for a wild girl like her to endure. She popped off the windowsill where she was perched looking ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation and headed toward the door. Meanwhile Sansa was getting stuffed into her dress. This was nothing Arya wanted part of.

Looking over her shoulder, Arya said “See you there, sister”.  
“Yes, Arya. I’ll see you there.” Sansa answered.

With the last tie tied, the dress was on. Her preparations were finished and she was alone in the room. Sansa looked around. She was alone in her room!

Now to tackle that assignment!


	2. Tackling the Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut!

CHAPTER 2: TACKLING THE TASK 

She was alone in her room!

Sansa being alone meant there was nothing stopping her from doing as Sandor asked.  
If touching herself and not washing her hands was the bridal gift he wanted who was she to deny him? He was her world, her not-a-ser, her everything. 

Looking down, she considered her dress. Sansa’s wedding dress was of a light wool as it was spring, but more fortuitous it wouldn’t wrinkle easily unlike Southron silks. The color was a dark navy blue with grey embroidery she stitched herself. Her hair looked lovely in that shade.

She sat in her sewing chair by the hearth and lifted her skirts. Underneath she had been covered in stockings and small clothes. The stockings would have to stay. That would just be too scandalous to be without them (knowing the next thing she had planned). As she raised the skirts up her legs she felt the air in the room brush the strip of skin between the thigh garters for her stockings and hem of her small clothes. Running her fingertips along the gathering ties of the stockings Sansa eyed the hounds she embroidered on the ribbons as a little surprise for her beloved Sandor. The ribbons were yellow and the stitching was black and it was an honor to work every stitch. She was to be a Clegane from this day on after all.

Appreciation of her own cleverness with thread and needle done, her fingers reached the bare skin just at the bottom hem of her small clothes. Featherlight touches there caused goosebumps to appear and a shiver shot up her spine resulting in a shake of her shoulders. Back and forth she traced, inching slowly toward the space her thighs touched. She closed her eyes mimic touches Sandor had used to drive her to wantonness as her legs spread. She could now feel the telltale trickle of desire saturating her small clothes. The air in the room touched that fabric too. It was slightly cold to her, but when her fingers tested the wetness the linen felt warm, so warm.

Sansa’s small clothes were going to have to go. She allowed the maids to dress her in them knowing she would go most of the day without the little barrier but they didn’t need know of her plan. Another mind game of her own preparation for tonight and just to see the look on Sandor’s face when he discovered that little gift after the stitched garter ribbons. It was so thrilling to her to finally be able to be his completely. Just a few scant hours and the denial, teasing, and buildup would be over making this slow torture all worth it. It was glorious. Sansa loved these feelings of warmth and lightheadedness. This was the section in her life where she was taken care of and didn’t have to think about hard things like keeping the castle fed or if Bran was happy in his new role of the three eyed raven. It was Sansa’s and Sandor’s alone and she looked forward to the edgings everyday. Sometimes he had her touch herself in front of him, either letting her do as she pleased or him guiding her. Other times he used his own hands. They were so much bigger and rougher than hers and it brought a whole new level. The best times were when he used his mouth. The texture of his scars he would use to its greatest advantage. His tongue was at once firm and loving. He confused her everyday with this juxtaposition of gentle and fierce. Sandor exuded it in everything he did. Sansa knew she was one of the only people alive who could see this in him. Another secret for just the two of them she held close to her heart.

Sansa’s hands left the damp gusset to slide up to the sides of her hips where the ribbons holding together her small clothes were tied. Taking an end in each hand she pulled her arms away from her skirts and the front flap of fabric fell between her thighs. More air hit her and the wetness seemed more pronounced.

Since it is customary in the North to leave a bride alone to reflect before her wedding ceremony, Sansa knew she had some time, but not as much as she may like. Running her open-palmed hands across her hips to her stomach she pressed them in. Pressing to put pressure on her belly as she slid her hands down inch by inch. Fingertips touching just above the hairline, she pressed harder. The warmth in her hands felt decadent, her skin was so smooth from the oils in her bath she glided the pressuring hands down the creases where leg met hip. Flipping her hands up, Sansa pressed together the outer lips of her folds with the backs of both hands. Holding, holding, holding, then a wiggle; just as Sandor instructed her once. She could feel the backs of her hands gather a moisture she must have squeezed out.

Then, suddenly, she put pressure on the sides of her hands touching hair and pulled the hands apart toward her legs. She was reenacting one of Sandor’s guided edgings. Her hips bucked once and it felt so wonderful. Holding her folds open, Sansa humped the air ten times. That’s what he had told her to do that one time. “Hump the air ten times”. Oh, she could her that gravelly voice in her head.  
What would he want her to do next?  
Touch. He would want her to….touch.

Removing her hands she braced herself with her left hand as her right hand hitched her skirts up a tad more to make her reach more comfortable. Her corset wasn’t that strict, things were much more lax in the North, but she still had to scooch down into the chair a bit to do the job right. With her right hand now free of the navy blue skirt, she lowered her hand to where her wetness was. Her middle finger made a burrow through the half open labia and she felt a pool just at her opening. Swirling her finger, Sansa gathered the slick substance to the top of her slit where she knew her pleasure awaited. 

Circling the outside of her nub clockwise ten times, then counter as per Sandor’s previous instructions Sansa reflects. She really had never had any practical experience before he succumbed to her lack of propriety after the war ended. Sansa was done doing what everyone else wanted and decided to ask and get what she wanted and that was Sandor. He was her prize for living through it all. She thought about all the times she touched him in a less than appropriate way for a lady. He fought being anything more than her shield, but she wore him down. He fought going any further than a respectably held hand, she again wore him down. He fought becoming her betrothed, she wore him down with reasoning even his cynical mind could not get out from under. After all the battles he loved to lose lost, he needed a win. Denying Sansa her first orgasm by another’s hand was what he chose. Sansa repeats her clock circling and gets slightly closer to her clitoris taking the time to gather more wetness. When Sandor sat her down to explain his plan of denial and edging, explaining it in explicit detail, Sansa swooned. The more he spoke, the more she wanted it. This was a gift. This was everything. She’d have her man and he’d have a modicum of control while benefiting them both. He explained he didn’t need for her to service him yet. His enjoyment came from how much he affected her. The want she had for him made him feel like a king. He loved his Little Bird, heart and soul, and she loved him back. Words were wind, but wetness was tangible. Not that she ever had to prove anything to him, she wanted to show him how much she was affected by him just as much as he needed to see it with his own eyes. A practical man, he said. He’s practically making me drip, she thought. 

That special conversation happened a few nights after their official betrothal feast. He was visibly uncomfortable with his new station. She knew she wanted him in control behind closed doors and said as much at the feast. Sansa could see the wheels in his head turning even then. They had gone on a walk in the Godswood enjoying one of the first warm nights since Spring had sprung. Coming along a fallen log they sat down and he laid out his plans for controlling their desire until their wedding day.

Now Sansa had to hurry things along. Bran, Jon, and Arya would be along soon to collect her for the Heart Tree ceremony. Grasping the arm of her sewing chair with her left hand she made direct contact to her clitoris with her right. She used 3 fingers side by side to make a blunt, non direct surface to rub herself. Up and down, then circles, then side to side and repeat. Over and over and over until her breathing was ragged and she could feel perspiration starting at the roots of her hair. She had found the edge. The precipice that if she went one second longer with her rubbing she would be orgasming. 

Sansa did indeed remember what an actual orgasm felt like. In the Vale Sansa and Miranda Royce would pillow talk then retire to their separate rooms and she’d practice. It seems like that time in her life was filled with intrigue and pink fluffy hazes of orgasms. 

Another reason she looked forward to tonight. She wanted to feel that again.

Quickly Sansa tore her hands away from herself and held her legs apart. Breathing slowly calming herself down. It was close, too close and she had hours yet to get through. 

Finally it was safe enough to move and Sansa stood on shaky legs as she smoothed her skirts back in their proper place. She did a little twist letting the skirts swoosh about enjoying the little breeze it created on her wet thighs. 

Because wet she was. Now that she was standing, her upper thighs got a covering all their own as her own lubrication seeped out having not been used for its primal purpose. Thinking a bit on this, Sansa decided to open the window to air room out. It would not do to be picked up for her own wedding from a room smelling like a pleasure house!

Not ten minutes later a knock was knocked on the door.   
Arya pushed her head in saying “C’mon Sansa, lets get this mummer’s show on the road!”

Laughing, Sansa answered “Gladly!” She joined Arya, Jon, and Bran for a walk to the Godswood to marry her most Beloved Sandor. 

And she hadn’t washed her hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on Chapter 1!!!


	3. THE AFTERMATH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding and a feast occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still own none of the characters.  
> Mr GRRM has given my own fantasies fodder for quite some time now.

CHAPTER 3: THE AFTERMATH

 

Walking the halls of Winterfell the siblings looked a stoic bunch. Jon was never really outwardly emotional, Arya was a warrior: eyes everywhere at once, and Bran was often in a catatonic state but at least today he decided being present was the least he could do.

Sansa was all internal thought. She knew she hadn’t washed her hands as she normally would. She was aware the smell wouldn’t be all that noticeable. It was just the mindfuck Sandor wanted she was sure. He was always finding subtle ways of making her blush. He was masterful at it.

The Stark group came to the edge of the Godswood. Finally, Sansa thought! And Arya helped Bran get into his place. Jon was to walk Sansa the rest of the way to her new husband and life.  
The feeling of rightness made Sansa sigh. Jon looked at her with a cocked, questioning eyebrow.

“Don’t worry Jon, this is exactly what I want. I am content.”

“That’s all I ever wanted for you Sansa, contentedness.”

“Then you get your wish today too!” Sansa smiled as she threaded her arm around his and squared her shoulders in the direction where her heart belonged.

They walked forward toward the Heart Tree and a small group was gathered around. All the people Arya reported on were there. Sam Tarly was officiating and Sandor was standing at his side. The usual ceremonial words for a Northern wedding were said, but Sansa didn’t hear them. She was floating. All she could focus on was Sandor. Meeting his eye made her heart beat faster because in those grey orbs she saw love, lust, friendship, and lust. If Sansa thought she was floating before she was truly the Little Bird he named her high above in flight now. She knew she’d thought lust twice in her inner monologue, but she didn’t care a tick. 

Somehow she was now standing beside Sandor in front of the tree and Sam and put her right hand in the hand he held out for her to take. Holding her hand, Sandor brought it up to his lips to kiss...but that wasn’t the first thing he did. Strangely, Sansa thought, he seemed to audibly sniff at her hand. One big noisy sniff? Their eyes still locked together the confusion in her gaze suddenly turned to wide-eyed panic. Sandor’s eyes immediately turned black, pupils dilating and what could have been misconstrued as death incarnate but in reality was full blown lust lust lust.

Sansa started breathing harder now when Sandor kissed her hand and held it for the rest of the ceremony. As present as Sansa wanted to be, all she could think about was the ramifications this might lead to. It was customary to kiss a Lady’s hand on a day of meeting and congratulations. The right hand. So many people would be able to smell her arousal! She thought after they kissed the ceremony closed (oh my, what a kiss. Sansa was certainly present for that and for the catcalls and whistles coming from Bronn and Tormund’s direction) she could get away with having a goblet in her hand whenever anyone approached the high table to speak to the happy couple. Yes, that would work splendidly. There wouldn’t be dancing as Sandor would only do that with her in private. The feast would be just that: eating and drinking. All will be fine….

But all was not fine….eventually.  
Yes, Sansa’s plan worked for the first part of the feast when toasts were given while people waited for the food to be served. A drink in the hand as many Lords and Ladies arrived to congratulate at the same time another took their turn saying all sorts of pretty words. Most were content to trade pleasantries and not cross the line of the table to touch. 

As everyone settled down the food was served. Anyone who wanted to was welcome to wander around talking with anyone they hadn’t seen in a long time. It was pleasant and the buzz of white noise from many conversations taking place simultaneously gave the new husband and wife a modicum of privacy to just sit back and watch. No one was really paying attention to them anyway, so Sansa relaxed a bit.

“Lift your skirts, wife”

“What? My husband, you can’t be serious!”

“Serious as a fire breathing dragon. Everything will be covered from the front by the table cloth. Now, please. Won’t you lift your skirts above your knees for your new husband?”

Oh, the gravelly voice again. Right in her ear. He was leaning close to her and saying this ridiculousness right into her ear! Visible shivers shook her whole body as Sansa kept her face forward, trying for all her life to look like she was enjoying having so many friends gathered. Both Sandor’s hands were on the table so the decision was made she had to lift them herself. 

Once the fabric was above her knees he bid her stop. “Now leave that there for the rest of the time”. 

Sansa flushed. He still didn’t know she had gone without small clothes.

“Now spread your legs wide, Little Bird.”

Her body bucked. She tried to play it off as a back stretch, but spread her legs she did. In her mind’s eye it was as if she was exposing herself to the entire room. The High Table was slightly raised, so if that blessed tablecloth wasn’t there she sure as anything would have been showing all her woman parts.

“Nicely done, Sansa” Her ear had to have been bright red with his warm breath by now. Sansa felt a huge hand grip her suddenly on her thigh and she squeaked.

“Best not make a scene. You know how these people gossip and chirp.”

Sansa bit her lip and tried to control her breathing as his hand squeezed gently. His hand was not so big he could wrap his fingers around for his fingers to touch, but the entire front and sides were covered in his strong grip.

“I want to check on your assignment”

“My assignment was checked when you sniffed my hand before the ceremony, thank you very much!”

“Oh yes. But that was only part of your assignment, you definitely did not wash your hands. I want to check how wet you are.”

“Please Sandor, do you have to do it now?”

“The people are almost done with their meal. They’ll be wanting to talk with us again soon, I wager. Now is the perfect time.”

Sansa sighed and spread her legs further. His hand scraped further up and she relished the rough texture on his hand. She braced herself for impact and he went in for the kill. She heard his surprised intake of breath. For Sandor, that show of shock was akin to someone else screaming…

“Maids forget to dress you properly this morning, Little Bird?”

One solitary big, meaty finger made contact and swiped slowly up. She was in heavenly horrified petrification. 

“No, they did their job impeccibly. I purposely left them in my room as a surprise for you, but you were not to discover this until we were alone.” She almost whined and was gasping a bit in this declaration.

“All day you’ve been without your small clothes then?”

“Yes”

“And you did this for me?”

“Yes”  
“Thank you, wife. You’ve made me a very happy dog.”

Sansa became hyper aware of every person and whether they might turn in her direction. As unlucky luck would have it someone did. Two someones in fact.

The two surviving Lannister men approached the table with smiles. They had all become friendly during the war. Tyrion had made his peace with his former wife and they corresponded frequently, both appreciating the other’s political prowess. Jaime had deserted Cersei and arrived in the North just in time to join Brienne’s side in the fight. He was so much more whole beside the tall giantess and the two got married on the battlefield. The brothers were both excited to see their friends so happy.

Tyrion was first to reach his hand out to take Sansa’s but she was too fast and using what she knew was his favorite gesture made to clink goblets with him. He accepted this readily, said his few words, bowed and moved on. 

Jaime, however had a queer look on his face. 

All this time Sandor’s finger was unmoving but present on Sansa’s crease. A constant pressure while she was chatting with Tyrion. Sansa was on autopilot and that was fine, but Sandor now decided to up the ante knowing how observant a fellow former Kingsguard could be. He started to move his finger again. Sansa gulped down the remainder of wine in her mouth.

“Congratulations are in order, former Hound. The day was as fine as anyone could ask and as I’ve known you since we were young, you deserve every happiness”.

“Many thanks, you big blond bag of shit.” Saying this, Sandor smiled. This was their banter and it was all in good fun. Jaime just took it in stride. Sandor kept a straight face and his upper arm was not moving at all as his finger kept up the slow up and down pace on Sansa’s slit.

“And you, My Lady!”

“Yes, Ser Jaime?” she barely whispered.

“You are looking exquisite as always. It was a wonderful ceremony, a bit unorthodox in spots…but absolutely lovely.”

Jaime reached out his hand to take hers. Oh No! She had put her goblet down! Sandor was speeding up his finger as well….

She had no avenue but to let Jamie kiss her hand!

Jamie lowered his head to her hand and held his lips to her skin. It wasn’t lewd or sloppy. It was a perfectly respectful greeting hand kiss. But he paused as he finished still holding her hand, then raised his head and let her hand go.

The man continued talking.

“It’s so good to be back up here in the North. The air is so refreshing.”

Sandor chuckled “Is that so, Lannister. Well, I happen to agree. Don’t you agree Lady Clegane?”

Sansa paled as his blasted finger went even faster in its up and down motion. He was hitting every millimeter of the length of her slit and he was not letting up. 

“Uh, uh... yes, Lord Husband. I’m quite fond of the air around my home.” 

“Oh yes, Lady Wife. The air around your home is quite delicious to breathe in.”

Jaime’s smile went huge as he took his leave. Still grinning and walking backward toward his seat, he brought his hand up to his mouth and kept it there the whole way back. Nodding his head to Sandor in thanks.

“You know he could smell your hand, right?”

“No. No Sandor he didn’t there's no way and it has been too many hours past!” 

“Believe me now, that talk about air was truly about you delectably smelling cunt. He knew exactly what we were doing under the table too. How does that make you feel?”

“Oh Sandor! Please! Give me a moment. Your finger is driving me insane! I’m so overwhelmed!”

“Good”

And the finger disappeared. She had met an edge and rode it while talking to Jaime Lannister and sitting in front of every person she knew. She was mortified...but she was also fantastically flustered in her desire for more. For more she would lift her skirts higher, jump on the table and demand Sandor put his mouth on her, everyone else be damned to the last seventh hell!

“Breathe, Little Bird.”

She breathed.

“Let me know when you’re calmed down enough to answer my question.”

Her pleading eyes slid to the side to look at him in disbelief. He still expects her to answer and talk about her experience. He did this every time and it was her least/most favorite part. Her newfound love for humiliation was one she couldn’t explore in many ways, and this was the safest to her station as Lady of Winterfell. She had to report about what she felt and experienced as any good soldier would to his captain. But it was always done in private. This is most definitely not private! 

Sansa turned full body to Sandor and whispered “I feel completely humiliated Jaime knew what we were up to and how he went out his way to comment on my hand having the scent of my desire.”

“And how does that humiliation make you feel, my love?” Sandor asked as he casually licked his finger as if he was enjoying the now finished dessert course.

“It makes me feel aroused, Sandor.”

“I’m sorry, wife. Could you say that a little louder? My bad ear and all…”

Sansa then sat up in her best posture, looked Sandor straight in the eye and repeated herself with a much stronger, yet still quiet voice. He seemed to accept that as good enough. He had to know how much that admission had cost her. Thank goodness this feast was almost over.

Uh oh. Almost over. That meant the bedding ceremony. She wasn’t sure that should happen. Sansa had given the bedding ceremony some thought, albeit with much trepidation, but forgot to make her wishes known to Sandor. She did NOT want a traditional bedding ceremony! She was the Lady of this castle and finally had their hard-won respect!

Thankfully, Sandor beat everyone to the punch. He seemed to be of the same mind as Sansa as he nodded once, then made to stand up.

“Thank you all for coming to our wedding today. One last toast I’d like to give and then I’ll be escorting my bride to retire for the evening.” No one peeped or moved. It seems Sandor’s temper reputation still had some value!

“This last toast is to praise my wife. She is everything I never thought I deserved. I am a man of few words and none flowery, but Sansa Clegane has held the North together through war and rebuilding and I couldn’t be more proud to have her as my wife. I look forward to spending this day and the rest of my days by her side and thank every star in the sky she saw to stand by mine.”

The entire hall was silent. Sansa’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears as she took in every word.

“So I toast my wife, and all of you and wish everyone here many generations of happiness.”

With that Sandor raised his glass and still no one moved. Then the scrapes of two chairs broke the quiet and Tormund Giantsbane and Bronn of the Blackwater stood and started clapping. Everyone then stood with raised glasses and drank to the newly wedded couple.

It was glorious. 

Sansa stood (letting her skirts finally fall back to the respectible floor) and linked her arm with Sandor as he led them down the steps from the high table and through the Great Hall to leave their guests behind. Arya and Jon held the doors open and Sansa could hear Sandor thank them for making sure they weren’t followed. The doors were then shut as the passed through.

“Dear husband?”

“Yes, dear wife?”

“Take me to bed”

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last, folks!  
> I probably won't have it up for a few days yet, but stick with me please!  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter fic (squirm)  
> This is also my first smut fic (extra squirm)  
> Please feel free to leave me comments and or kudos...I'm needy~!


End file.
